My father is Chongzhen? Then I have no choice but to rebel.

"Their bullets... were like... like they had eyes! One shot... one kill! Soldiers in the front ranks fell in droves... like mowing grass! Those iron lumps... when those iron lumps fired, the earth shook! The soldiers were terrified and turned to run... the supervisory teams... the supervisory teams couldn't cut them down!"

He suddenly lowered his head, gripping his hair tightly with both hands, and let out a beast-like howl:
"Thirty thousand! A full thirty thousand soldiers! Half of them were wiped out in less than fifteen minutes. How are we supposed to fight this battle?!"

The hall was deathly silent.

Only Hauge's desperate cries and heavy breathing echoed in the empty hall.

Despite being mentally prepared, everyone still felt a chill run from the soles of their feet to the top of their heads when Hauge recounted these bloody details, their hands and feet turning icy cold. Jirhalang closed his eyes and sighed deeply, Ajige slammed his fist against the pillar beside him, and Daishan wept uncontrollably.

Ajige muttered to himself, his voice trembling.

"Is this...is this still a war? This is clearly...a massacre!"

Dorgon slowly closed his eyes, his body swaying almost imperceptibly.

His worst fears have come true.

The Ming army's new weaponry was far more powerful than he had ever feared. This was not a tactical failure, nor a decline in morale; it was... the crushing force of the times! It was a devastating defeat—a dimensional assault—of cold weapons against firearms, of agrarian civilization against industrial civilization!
Faced with such power, individual bravery, tribal archery, and even the most ingenious tactics all seem so pale and laughable.

After a long while, he opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the faces in the hall—faces filled with despair, anger, or bewilderment. His voice was hoarse, yet carried a final shred of calm in the face of utter despair:
"Gentlemen... you have all heard it. The strength of the Ming army is beyond human capability. The defeat at Liaohe was not a failure of the battle, but... the will of Heaven."

"God willing?"

Haug suddenly raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, and hissed.

"Fourteenth Uncle! Could it be... could it be that we are just going to stand by and watch Shenyang... watch the Qing Dynasty... perish?!"

Dorgon did not answer. Instead, he slowly stood up, walked to the screen with the huge map of Liaodong hanging on it, stretched out a finger, and pointed tremblingly at the location of Shenyang. Then he slowly moved north, passing through Fushun, Tieling, Kaiyuan... until he pointed to the vast Changbai Mountains and the Heilongjiang River basin covered by primeval forests.

"Gentlemen."

He turned around, his voice low, yet carrying a resolute determination akin to burning one's boats.

"At this point, a direct confrontation will only lead to certain death. The only course of action now is... a drastic measure."

"A brave man cutting off his own arm?"

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Give up Shenyang."

Dorgon spoke clearly, enunciating each word distinctly. His words caused a stir in the hall, even Hauge's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Give up Shenyang? This...this is unacceptable!!"

Haug gasped in shock.

"Shenyang is the capital of our Great Qing Dynasty! It is the foundation built by our founding emperors, Taizu and Taizong! How... how can we hand it over to the Ming dogs!"

"What else can we do if we don't give up?"

Dorgon's gaze suddenly sharpened as he stared intently at Hauge.

"To hold Shenyang to the death, waiting for the Ming army to drive those thirteen iron grenades to the city walls and use those guns that can shoot down 350 paces to pick off the defenders one by one? To wait for the city walls to be bombarded by heavy artillery, to wait for the entire army to be wiped out, and for the Aisin Gioro clan... to be wiped out here?!"

His words were like icicles, piercing Haug and leaving him speechless. The hall fell silent once more.

Dorgon took a deep breath and continued:

"Shenyang cannot be defended. But Liaodong... is vast. Changbai Mountain, Heilongjiang River, there are dense primeval forests, crisscrossing rivers, and the mountains and forests we are most familiar with. The Ming army's iron lumps cannot penetrate the mountains; their spears will have greatly reduced range and accuracy in the dense forest; their large army will have difficulty in supplying supplies in complex terrain, and their mobility is far inferior to ours. As long as we retreat into the deep mountains, rely on the terrain, and fight the Ming army... perhaps, there is still a glimmer of hope."

He paused, a gambler's madness flashing in his eyes:
"Moreover, the longer the Ming army's battle lines are stretched out, the more dispersed their forces become, and the more difficult it is to supply them. Liaodong is bitterly cold, and they cannot maintain a garrison of hundreds of thousands of troops for long. When their troops are old and exhausted and they have no choice but to withdraw back to the interior... we might still have a chance... to fight back!"

"call back?"

Jirhalang gave a wry smile.

"Fourteenth brother, it's easier said than done..."

"It's not easy, but it's the only way to survive!"

Dorgon was resolute.

"Staying in Shenyang is waiting to die! Retreating to Liaodong is a fight for survival! Even if... even if in the end we can only become tribal chiefs in the mountains like our ancestors, it's still better than... national extinction and annihilation!"

His words carried a heartbreaking sorrow and a sense of finality.

The people inside the hall gradually shifted from initial shock and resistance to silence and contemplation, eventually giving way to a sense of resigned helplessness.

Yes, besides this path, do they... have any other choice?

Hauge opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but looking at Dorgon's unquestionable gaze and the desperate yet hopeful eyes of his uncles and brothers around him, he finally just lowered his head in despair and let out a heavy sigh.

He knew that the Qing Dynasty... was truly finished.

At least, the "Great Qing Empire," which once dominated Liaodong and coveted the Central Plains, was now merely a name without substance from this moment on.

"Pass on the order."

Dorgon waved his hand wearily, as if he had used up all his strength.

"From this moment forward, secretly prepare to plunder... no, to requisition all gold, silver, grain, cloth, and medicine in the city. Take everything you can! Especially... artisans! Every artisan who can forge weapons and smelt iron, leave no one behind! Three days later... evacuate Shenyang and head north to... Changbai Mountain!"

Once the order was given, the Shenyang Imperial Palace and its surroundings instantly fell into an eerie and oppressive flurry of activity.

Boxes of gold, silver, jewelry, antiques, and calligraphy were moved from warehouses and loaded onto carts; granaries were opened and grain was forcibly requisitioned; cloth shops and pharmacies were stormed by soldiers and their goods were looted. To gather enough mules and carts, the Eight Banners soldiers even broke into people's homes to forcibly seize livestock, and any resistance was met with swords and knives.

The once prosperous "Shengjing" is now in chaos, filled with complaints, cries, and curses.

Many people, whose property and livestock had been forcibly confiscated, collapsed in despair on the street, staring at the gray sky, tears streaming down their faces. "What a tragedy! They're trying to drive us to our deaths!"

"If only I had known... if only I hadn't followed them out of the old forest in the first place!"

"Go back? Go back to that godforsaken Changbai Mountain? We'd freeze to death there!"

Complaining is complaining, and despair is despair.

Faced with the ferocious Eight Banner soldiers and the approaching Ming army, which seemed like divine punishment, what could these Manchu, Han, and Mongol people, who had long been accustomed to the relatively peaceful life in Shenyang, do but accept their fate? As Dorgon said, before entering Shenyang, they too had come from deep in the mountains and forests, and now... it was just a matter of going back.

However, the road back is destined to be more difficult and more hopeless than the way there.

In mid-June of the seventeenth year of the Chongzhen reign (1644), in the heart of Liaodong, at the Ming army camp.

In the height of summer, the scorching heat and humidity of Liaodong swept across this vast black soil in a suffocating way.

At this time of year, the grass and trees would be lush and vibrant, a time of vibrant life. But this year, the continuous rain and sudden rise in temperature have turned the roads, which were once frozen solid, into a muddy swamp. The air seems to have solidified, so stifling that it's hard to breathe. Swarms of mosquitoes hover like dark clouds in the low sky, emitting an annoying buzzing sound and frantically biting any exposed skin.

The Ming army's massive marching force was like a giant steel python struggling to writhe in the mud, its speed slowed to an unsettling degree.

Since the swearing-in ceremony and departure in early May, a month and a half has passed. The army set off from Jinzhou, capturing cities and fortresses and breaking through enemy lines, but has only advanced less than 300 li to the north.

This speed is a world apart from the bold claim of "traveling thirty li a day" at the beginning of the expedition.

There are many reasons for this situation.

The first problem to be solved was the terrible weather. Days of rain had turned the already rudimentary official road into a complete mud pit. The wheels of the horse-drawn carts, laden with supplies, were stuck deep in the mud, and it often took dozens of laborers shouting and using all their strength to push the carts out of the mud pit.

What's even more troublesome are those thirteen "Iron Fortresses of Divine Machines," which are regarded as the "soul of the army" and "symbols of morale."

These steel behemoths, weighing hundreds of thousands of kilograms, can move slowly on dry, hard ground using their powerful steam power, but on this muddy road, they become nothing short of a "burden."

With each turn of their massive, iron-clad wheels, they would carve deep trenches several feet into the mud, making it easy for people to get stuck and unable to move.

Each time a cart got stuck, it required the mobilization of hundreds or even thousands of engineers and laborers to lay logs, place stones on top, and use winches and dozens of strong draft horses to pull it out, taking several hours to "rescue" it. Often, just as one cart was pulled out, another would get stuck.

The entire marching column had to stop frequently to wait for these "steel mountain gods" to get rid of the mud.

However, even so, from the commanders to the soldiers, not a single person suggested abandoning these cumbersome behemoths.

Because their very existence is an invisible yet powerful deterrent.

As long as the huge chimneys continue to spew black smoke, and as long as the deafening roar continues to echo across the wilderness, the Ming soldiers' belief in "invincibility" will remain unbreakable.

They were mobile fortresses, symbols of overwhelming power, and relentless blows to the psychological defenses of the Jurchens. Even a snail's pace was worthwhile for them.

Besides the unfavorable weather, man-made obstacles also abound.

After suffering a crushing defeat on the main battlefield, the Jurchens clearly changed their strategy, shifting from head-on decisive battles to endless harassment and sabotage.

They dispatched small groups of elite cavalry, who, taking advantage of their familiarity with the terrain, moved by night and hid by day, appearing and disappearing unpredictably.

They did not seek to engage the Ming army in battle, but instead focused on destroying roads and bridges. They dug deep trenches, set up roadblocks, and felled giant trees to obstruct the Ming army's passages. Sometimes, the Ming vanguard would painstakingly clear a path, and the main army would only be halfway through when the road behind would be destroyed again by Jurchen cavalry appearing out of nowhere.

This "sticky" tactic, while unable to inflict heavy casualties, greatly slowed down the Ming army's advance and drained their energy and patience.

Upon receiving the detailed military report, Zhu Cilang, who was stationed at the central command, simply smiled and said to Zu Dashou, Sun Chuanting, and others beside him:
"The Jurchens are at their wits' end and can only resort to this petty trick. Let them go; their struggle is futile. Order the army to proceed cautiously and steadily, without rushing things. Safety first."

That being said, as June drew to a close, an even more insidious and deadly conspiracy emerged, causing even the usually composed Zhu Cilang to change color in shock.

On the night of June 28th, at the Ming army's vanguard camp, the Crown Prince's temporary residence.

The tent was brightly lit by candlelight, dispelling the dampness and mosquitoes of the summer night outside.

Zhu Cilang removed his military uniform, leaving only a moon-white casual robe with dark cloud patterns. He sat behind a makeshift desk and, by candlelight, carefully reviewed the military reports submitted by various departments. Despite the fatigue from marching all day, he remained energetic and showed no signs of sleepiness.

On the desk lay a thick stack of documents, recording the transfer of provisions and supplies, the reduction and replenishment of personnel in each battalion, the local pacification of newly occupied areas, and... the slow but unwavering marching route, as slow as a snail's crawl.

"At this rate, it will take at most two more months for our troops to besiege Shenyang."

Zhu Cilang put down a scout report marked "230 li from Shenyang," muttered to himself, and a confident smile appeared on his lips.

"Dorgon... will you choose to fight the Ming army to the death at the gates of Shenyang, or will you... abandon the city and flee into the Changbai Mountains and Heilongjiang River, to eke out a living?"

He prefers the latter.

The precise rifle fire and the visual and psychological impact of the "Iron Fortress" had long been a Damocles' sword hanging over the heads of the Jurchens, passed down through countless battles and word of mouth among routed soldiers. Faced with an absolute disparity in strength, any courage or determination seemed pale and laughable.

The generational gap brought about by technology is so ruthless.

Just as he was lost in thought, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly came from outside the tent, followed by a guard's deep question and the newcomer's reply.

The tent flap was suddenly flung open, and a sentry, dressed in light armor, covered in dust, with several scratches on his face from tree branches, rushed in, panting heavily. He knelt on one knee, his voice hoarse with urgency:
"Your Highness! Something terrible has happened! The Vanguard Battalion... an urgent report from the Vanguard Battalion!"

Zhu Cilang felt a chill run down his spine and abruptly stood up:

"What's the matter? Speak slowly!"

The scout took a few deep breaths and said urgently:
"Your Highness! This afternoon at Shenshi (3-5 PM), our vanguard reached a stream called 'Toad River' and prepared to fetch water and set up camp. However… the soldiers discovered that the river was filled with a large number of rotting corpses! There were human corpses, as well as the carcasses of cattle, horses, pigs, and sheep, all deliberately discarded upstream! The river water reeked of a foul stench, teeming with mosquitoes and flies, and was utterly murky! Commander Zu has concluded that this is a vicious plot by the Jurchens, an attempt to pollute the water source and cut off our army's drinking water! He has now ordered the entire army to refrain from drinking this water, set up camp on the spot, and dispatched a messenger to urgently report to Your Highness!"

"what?!"

Upon hearing this, Zhu Cilang's expression changed drastically. He slammed his hand on the desk, causing the brushes on the brush holder to fall to the ground.

"Is the water source polluted?" (End of Chapter)